Untempered Steel
by Nibblepibbly
Summary: Elrond decides it is time for Estel to leave Rivendell and take on his duties as Chieftain of the Rangers. The Twins and Legolas go along, but can they protect Aragorn from the dangers waiting in the Wild? Chap. 6 up-- Aragorn is ill...
1. An Incident At Raven Pass

Untempered Steel

It was a stony-faced party of elves that rode into Rivendell just as the sun was setting. Aragorn and Legolas, riding in the center of the group, exchanged weary, sympathetic glances. The scouting party was supposed to have returned hours before, and would have if it hadn't been for them. If Legolas was dreading Elrond's reaction when Glorfindel told him what had happened, he couldn't imagine what his friend was feeling.

The Lord of Imladris was waiting for them on the porch of the great house. His features were impassive, but Legolas read relief in the older elf's eyes as he surveyed the group and realized all were unharmed. "Glorfindel." Elrond's voice held mild reproach. "We expected you back this morning. Is everything well?"

"All is well, praise the Valar, but it might not have been!" The balrog slayer flung himself off his horse and glared at the two youngest members of the party. Neither Man nor Elf would meet his gaze.

A slight scowl creased Elrond's forehead. "Estel? Legolas?" He turned back to the elf who stood seething before him. "What has happened?"

"I ordered the party to split up at nightfall yesterday in order to cover more ground," said Glorfindel. "We were to meet again at midnight, but Estel and Legolas chose to track a group of orcs on their own rather than report back at the appointed time. By the time I found them they were halfway up Raven Pass."

Aragorn, who had been examining the ground at his feet, looked up when he heard his father's sharp intake of breath. The elf lord's voice remained calm, but now it held a chill note that penetrated to the young man's bones. "Thank you, Glorfindel. Thank you for bringing them home in one piece. We will speak more later."

Glorfindel bowed stiffly and with one last, baleful glance at the unfortunate pair, strode away. The rest of the elves began leading their horses to the stables. Aragorn and Legolas turned to follow.

"Stay." 

It was not a request. Elrond approached slowly, his gaze fixed on Legolas. "I am not overly surprised by my son's behavior, but I expected better judgement on your part. I would be loath to have to explain your death to your father."

"My lord..." Elrond held up his hand and Legolas closed his mouth quickly.

"I am not Thranduil, and I do not know what he would say to you if he were here now. You are a prince, it is true, but you are also a guest in my house. As the master of the house, I suggest you go to your chambers and stay there. I do not wish to see you again until the morning."

"Estel..."

"Estel is not your concern. Goodnight, Legolas." The Lord of Imladris turned his back on the prince and focused on his youngest son. Looking over his father's shoulder, Aragorn caught Legolas's hopeless shrug. Aragorn nodded ever so slightly, knowing Elrond was aware of both gestures. Reluctantly, the prince of Mirkwood turned and entered the house, leaving father and son alone.

"Come with me."

Aragorn followed Elrond through the corridors of the great house, groups of elves falling silent as they passed. The Lord of Imladris' black mood cast a pall in their wake. At last they reached Elrond's library and Aragorn was ushered inside with a brisk gesture. There was a crackling fire already on the hearth. Elrond lit the tapers in the wall sconces before finally turning back to his son, who stood quietly in the middle of the room.

"Kneel."

"_Ada_..."

"Do it!"

Puzzled, Aragorn slowly sank to his knees. Looking into his son's upturned face, Elrond could see the uncertainty in the young man's eyes. The Lord of Imladris frowned. "Have I ever treated you harshly?"

"Never."

"Then compose yourself. Anger does not turn me into an orc, Estel."

Ashamed, Aragorn dropped his eyes. His father's hand gripped his shoulder lightly. "In any case, it is better to spend the night kneeling in my library than as a guest in a goblin cave, which is where you would be now if it weren't for Glorfindel." Elrond regarded his youngest child sternly. "You will apologize to him tomorrow."

"Yes, father, but if I could explain..."

"You may explain at dawn, if you find you still wish to. Tonight you will kneel there and hopefully in this place of learning something of value will penetrate into your stubborn head. You will neither rise, nor eat, nor drink until sunrise comes and I release you. Do you understand?"

Aragorn nodded.

"Good." Without another word, Elrond seated himself at the table and opened a large, yellowed parchment. He was quickly absorbed in its contents and paid no further attention to his son.

Aragorn knelt for a long while without moving, arms straight at his sides. He could not tell how much time had passed, but the miles he had ridden in the last two days were starting to make themselves felt. The muscles in his legs ached dully, and he could feel his empty stomach churning. He hoped Legolas, confined to his room, had been allowed something to eat.

He knew better than to stare at his father, but he couldn't help glancing over at the elf lord. Elrond's face was grave as he studied the sheet before him, and Aragorn felt a sudden lump in his throat. This punishment, while more serious than the usual lecture, was relatively easy to bear. What was harder was the knowledge that he had truly angered his father, jeopardizing what little respect Elrond might have for him. It had not been long since his father had revealed his true name to him. Since that day, Aragorn had wanted to prove himself worthy of the lineage he bore. Somehow, it seemed that by acting the part of the bold warrior he had accomplished exactly the opposite.

"_Ada_, may I speak?" His voice was soft.

"I have not forbidden it." The elf lord didn't look up.

He wanted to say something, anything, that would bridge the distance between them. "What are you doing?"

"Studying a map." Perhaps his father could hear the anxiety in his voice. Aragorn didn't care. Elrond had read his previous fear, so there was no reason to protect his pride. "Would you like to see it?"

"Yes." Surprised by the offer, Aragorn started to rise but sank back under his father's withering glance. Not deterred, he scooted over to the table on his knees. Despite his anger, Elrond couldn't suppress a small smile as he watched his irrepressible son. Aragorn, seeing his father's expression soften, smiled shyly up at him. The tension between them dissipated as their gazes locked, leaving the young man off-balance and lightheaded. He swayed and would have bumped against the table, but Elrond gripped his elbow.

"When did you last eat?"

"At dawn."

Elrond grunted softly but made no further comment as he moved his chair to make room for his son in front of the map. "What do you make of this?"

"It is a map of the mountains surrounding us." Aragorn traced his finger over the parchment. "There's the Bruinen, here's the Sky Road and the Valley Path..." He stopped, frowning. "I don't understand these marks." Small "x's," carefully made in his father's graceful hand, were scattered throughout the mountains.

"Those are goblin caves," Elrond said quietly.

Aragorn studied the meticulous markings with awe. They represented the combined information of many scouting parties, reaching back through long years. "There are so many," he breathed. How foolish he had been to imagine he could do any real good by killing a handful of the creatures! And yet, since he had learned of his true father's death at their hands, he had burned to face them in battle.

Wordlessly, Elrond tapped a segment of the map. Aragorn paled as he recognized Raven Pass. The "x's" were thickest there, running the length of the narrow gap. He shuddered to think he had dragged Legolas up there with him alone at night.

"You would have been butchered," Elrond said, as if he could read his son's thoughts. "Or worse, taken."

Aragorn did not reply. He was staring at the map, unblinking.

"Do you remember the fate of the last king of Gondor?" When Aragorn didn't answer, the elf lord continued, "In his pride he accepted the challenge of the Witch King and so died before his time, broken and despairing." Elrond gripped his son's shoulder again, this time more tightly. "I would not have your fate be the same, Estel."

"You believe I would make such a bad end?" He was inclined to feel a bit hurt that his father thought so little of him.

"I believe there is no good end to be had in an orc lair," Elrond said patiently. "A noble death may be achieved in battle with the creatures, but in the deep places of the earth the strongest heroes scream out their last breaths in the darkness." His voice hardened. "I have seen their handiwork. You have not." He took a deep breath and gently brushed a strand of dark hair away from his son's eyes. "I do not insult you, but if you hunt orcs recklessly you must consider how you would fare if captured, a lad who has seen but twenty summers and been raised knowing only peace and gentleness in your short life."

The truth of what might have been was now laid before him in all its ugliness, impossible to deny. "I am a fool," Aragorn said simply.

"You are young," Elrond corrected. "You have many years before you to gain wisdom, if you live long enough."

"I risked Legolas." He couldn't believe his own callousness. "He didn't think it was a good idea for us to go alone, but he wouldn't leave me."

"I rather guessed as much."

"He might have been killed!" The visions Elrond had conjured were too powerful to be cast from his mind. Aragorn rested his forehead against the table, closing his eyes. "It would have been my fault."

"It would," Elrond agreed. "That is why you are being punished."

"You are too gentle with me," Aragorn muttered.

"There is no such thing as 'too gentle,' Estel." As if to demonstrate the truth of this, Elrond carefully took his son's face in his hands, lifting it toward his own. With great effort, Aragorn forced himself to meet his father's eyes. "The world beyond these borders is not a gentle place. You will learn hardship and pain soon enough, I am afraid." The elf lord sighed. "I have dreaded this moment since you were a child, but I believe the time has come for you to leave Imladris."

"You're casting me out? Because of this? _Ada_, please…"

Elrond silenced him with a finger to his lips. "I'm not casting you out. This is your home and you will always be welcome here. Nor does my decision have anything to do with your behavior today. I have always been proud of you and always will be."

"Then why?" Aragorn blinked quickly, forcing back hot tears.

"You know your true name now. You know your lineage and the responsibility it brings. Imladris has been a haven, a shelter for your childhood, but you are a child no longer. It is time you lived among Men and learned their ways."

Aragorn knelt in silence. He no longer felt the hardness of the floor beneath his knees or the ache in his muscles. He knew his father was watching him, expecting a response. Was he a child or was he a man? How was it possible to feel like both at the same time?

"It will be hard to leave you." The words were spoken softly, with quiet dignity. He could sense his father's relief at his acquiescence.

"It is a new life, my son."

"Yes."

"Do not expect it to bring you the joy or peace you have known here. The wide world is not kind, but it offers something Imladris, for all its virtues, cannot."

"What is that?"

"The opportunity to achieve your full potential. Now you are an untempered sword, but to become truly strong you must pass through fire."

"Forgive me, _ada_. I don't feel very strong tonight."

"Tonight," Elrond said, "you don't have to."

With a sigh, Aragorn dropped his head against his father's knee. He closed his eyes and, in spite of the turmoil he felt, sleep slowly overtook him. His last memory was of Elrond's hand on his hair, his father's quiet breathing in the stillness of the room. _I will remember this_, he thought, _when I am in the Wild. I will remember this when I am alone._

The tapers burned low. The fire died and was not rekindled. Elrond, wakeful but unmoving, waited in the darkness for the dawn.


	2. Trouble Comes In Twos

Untempered Steel  
  
Part 2: Trouble Comes In Twos  
  
He was dreaming of mountains, but not the flower-covered slopes that bordered Imladris. These mountains were tall and gray, closing in around him. He heard voices ahead, muffled in an unnatural, clinging mist. Orcs? He fitted an arrow to bowstring with elven speed, speed he knew he did not possess in the waking world. The voices were still there, just ahead of him. Could it be men instead of orcs? Could it be elves? The voices reverberated off the stone walls of Raven Pass, and Aragorn realized suddenly where he was. He knew the voices belonged to orcs, even if he could not see them. Without another thought he let his arrow fly, but it was too late. Arrows fell around him, and he felt a sharp pain in his eye as one found its mark. His hand reached for the shaft, slick with blood and brains. Vaguely, he realized he shouldn't be alive, shouldn't be able to think at all. The mountains around him dissolved into nothingness as he fell, but still intolerable pain remained. Legolas! His scream shook the stones but it did not bring the orcs to gloat over his body. Nor did Legolas appear out of the mist, a stricken expression on his fair face.  
  
He was alone. No one would come to his rescue. There would be no end to his agony. He was trapped between life and death, unable to save himself and unable to die. "Ada!"  
  
A cool hand smoothed his forehead; he heard concern in his father's voice. "I am here, Estel. You were dreaming."  
  
"I can't see you!"  
  
"Open your eyes."  
  
He was slumped on the floor in his father's library, his head resting against Elrond's knee. The first thing he saw was the table leg in front of him. The second was the worried frown on the elf lord's face. "Are you well?"  
  
Aragorn touched his eye with a shaking hand. Feeling foolish, he changed the gesture, brushing loose strands of hair back from his face. "I am well." He managed a strained smile. "I am only tired, father. Truly."  
  
"It is dawn now. You should go to your chamber and sleep properly." The elf lord looked as weary as his son. "Rest all you can, Estel, before you leave us. You will have need of it."  
  
The words fell between them like a door slamming shut, ending the conversation. Aragorn pushed himself stiffly to his feet, reluctant to meet his father's gaze. Whether it was for fear of the pain he would betray or of seeing the reflection of his anguish in the elf lord's face, he didn't know. His emotions were complicated and he was too tired to figure them out. Nodding wordlessly, he took his leave.  
  
Aragorn went to his room but did not go directly to bed. The sweat of the nightmare still clung to his body, so he gathered clean clothes and made for the family's bathing chamber. He hoped he would be alone so early in the morning, but when the steam billowing out of the room cleared he could see the large marble pool was already occupied.  
  
Legolas opened one eye lazily when Aragorn entered. He was resting against the far wall of the pool, immersed from the chin down. His long, loose hair floated around his shoulders. "You made it out alive. I was starting to worry."  
  
"Alive for the moment." Aragorn slipped behind a gilt screen into the washing area. He undressed quickly, his fingers shaking as he untied the lacings on his tunic.  
  
Aragorn heard the water rippling quietly as the elf abandoned his place and swam closer. He sighed. Legolas must have noticed the strained tone of his voice. "Estel?"  
  
Aragorn threw his filthy clothes to the side. He pumped warm spring water into an urn, then upturned the vessel over his head. "Everything is well, Legolas," he said at last. "I have never made Father so angry before, but I don't think he is any more."  
  
"That's good," the elf said softly.  
  
Aragorn couldn't see Legolas, but he imagined him staring at the screen, his chin resting on the side of the pool. He could sense his friend's patient, silent presence.  
  
"There is more," Aragorn continued softly. He wrung his long hair out and threw it over his shoulder. Producing a long, straight razor he began to shave, feeling his way by touch alone as he looked up at the domed ceiling of the chamber. "Father thinks it is time I left Rivendell and lived among Men."  
  
There was a silence in which he imagined Legolas frowning, surprised and yet not surprised by this turn of events. "Perhaps he is right," the elf finally said. "Your people need you. They have been waiting for you though many dark and bitter seasons."  
  
"Have they?" Aragorn stuck his head around the screen, genuinely surprised.  
  
"Of course." Legolas's eyes narrowed as he studied his friend's face. "You cut yourself."  
  
"Did I? I didn't feel it," Aragorn muttered, disappearing behind the screen again. He emerged a few moments later and dove into the pool, cutting cleanly though the warm water. One more thing he would miss when he left home. He surfaced a few feet away from Legolas, who had closed his eyes once more. Aragorn looked at the elf's still face. For an immortal being, he seemed as painfully young as Aragorn was himself. How could he have ever placed his friend in such danger for such slight cause? "Legolas? I'm so sorry about dragging you to Raven Pass. I've been such a fool."  
  
"Shh. You apologize needlessly. I go where I will and my decisions are my own. You should know that, even if Lord Elrond does not." The elf smiled. "So please relax. You're disturbing the water."  
  
Aragorn chuckled and closed his eyes, listening to the ripples gently breaking against the edges of the pool. He could feel his tired muscles just beginning to unwind when suddenly he heard a laughing voice that caused them to tense again immediately.  
  
"You were right, Elladan! Our fastidious little brother is indeed here," Elrohir called over his shoulder as he burst into the room.  
  
"Don't let him leave." His twin's voice sounded in the hall outside.  
  
"Oh, don't worry. I don't think he's in a position to go anywhere at the moment." Elrohir folded his arms over his chest with a satisfied smile as he fixed his gaze on the young man in the bathing pool.  
  
"You're looking unusually smug this morning," Aragorn muttered.  
  
"Go ahead and insult us," Elladan said, entering unhurriedly. "It makes our task all the more pleasant."  
  
"We just left Father," Elrohir explained. "He told us about your little escapade. What a disobedient lad you are, Estel!"  
  
"Headstrong," Elladan added.  
  
"Reckless," Elrohir agreed.  
  
"We felt Father was rather lenient, so we came here to punish you properly. I'm afraid we'll have to wait, though." Elladan looked at his twin for agreement. "It would be unseemly to lay hands on the child in the presence of our mutual friend." He bowed to the Prince.  
  
"You two are not always as amusing as you imagine yourselves to be," said Legolas. "Now is not the time for jests. It is hard for Estel to leave Rivendell."  
  
Elrohir laughed. "Hard for him and for us! Who do you think Father has ordered to escort the young scapegrace into the Wild?"  
  
"You're coming with me? But. but I thought I had to go alone?"  
  
"Why would you think that?" Elrohir dropped his pose and sat down carelessly beside the pool, one hand trailing through the water. His eyes still danced with mischief, but there was seriousness in their depths. "First, O little one, Father is not as cruel as you rate him at the moment. No, don't interrupt," he said as Aragorn opened his mouth indignantly. "Second, without guidance from those older and wiser than yourself," here he made a vague gesture that included himself, Elladan, and the room at large, "where do you think you would go? You cannot simply ride up to the Rangers and say, 'Hello, I'm your new Chieftain.' For one thing, it is not easy to find them unless you know where to look. Then there are introductions to be made, formalities to be observed."  
  
"He's correct," Elladan said. "You're fortunate we know your people so well and are willing to help you." He smiled benignly. "In fact, one might even say you're blessed with our companionship."  
  
"One might also say cursed," Aragorn said, but now he was smiling, too.  
  
"I think the child is trying to provoke us." Elladan cocked his head and looked at the young human wonderingly. "I would have thought you had learned your lesson about reckless behavior." His hand shot out, grabbing Aragorn's arm.  
  
"Legolas, help!"  
  
Legolas shook his head, settling back against the side of the pool with a resigned sigh. He knew how these things usually turned out, so he didn't even blink when Elladan was pulled into the water. Amid the splashing and shouts he heard Aragorn's laughter, a soothing balm to all their worried spirits. The Prince of Mirkwood smiled and closed his eyes. 


	3. Difficult Words

****

Thanks very much for all the kind reviews. I had originally seen this story as a one-shot vignette, but now that I'm continuing it I will try to update more quickly.

Elizabeth Goode: I'm glad you're enjoying it! I've found your stories and like them very much, too. Writing Aragorn and Elrond is always fun, isn't it?

NaughtyNat: I've changed the controls now to accept anon reviews. (I'm still kind of new to this posting stories thing.) Thanks for reviewing!

Antigone Q and Frodo: Thanks so much for your encouraging words. I'm glad everyone seems in-character to you. Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Chapter 3: Difficult Words

In the end, it was a week before the little party escorting Aragorn into the Wild left Rivendell. After the free-for-all in the bathing chamber, Legolas announced that he, too, would accompany his young friend. "You three cannot be trusted on your own," he told the twins. Aragorn, for his part, was grateful to have him. It was one less goodbye he would have to say. It was hard to leave Elrond and all those he had known since childhood, but two partings in particular he was dreading. What would he say to his mother and Arwen?

In the days leading up to their departure there was much to be prepared, so he didn't have time to dwell on farewells. Finally, on the evening before they were to depart, he knew he could delay no longer. There was no more food to pack, no more clothing to fold, no reason to visit the horses in the stable yet again. With foreboding in his heart, Aragorn made his way to his mother's chambers.

Gilraen was reading by the fire. She looked up as her son entered, a smile softening her lined face. She was not old by the standards of the Dunedain, but compared to the ageless elves she seemed worn beyond her years. "Aragorn." She relished the feel of her son's true name on her tongue. Even though she accepted the need for secrecy, it had been hard to call him Estel. She had waited longingly for the day when there would be no more secrets between them.

Aragorn took her hands and kissed her forehead, motioning for her to remain seated. He sank down on the floor at her feet.

Still she held his hands, unwilling to let them go. "Master Elrond says you leave tomorrow morning."

"Yes."

"Elladan and Elrohir go with you?"

"And Legolas."

She nodded. "Master Elrond's sons are the noblest elves I have ever encountered." A ghost of a smile played across her lips at her son's skeptical expression. "You see only their games. I have known them in very different circumstances. When you were a child we would never have reached Rivendell safely if it hadn't been for them. They are magnificent warriors."

"I've tried to learn all I can from them," Aragorn said softly, "but I fear it will not be enough."

"You touch on a matter I wish to speak to you about before you leave." Gray eyes locked with gray. "Do not always compare yourself to elves and despair because you believe your skills are wanting. I've watched you through the years, trying to keep up with the others. I understand your frustration with the limitations of our race. You feel the differences acutely because you've grown up in Rivendell and Rivendell is a special place. But our people need a leader, a man with confidence in his abilities, someone who is not ashamed to be one of them.

"Long ago, our ancestors in Numenor came to grief because they wished to be elves, to share in unending life. Such a thing can never be. Though we live among the Eldar, our lives and theirs are forever sundered." Gilraen squeezed Aragorn's hands tightly. "Be careful as you gaze on the Undying Lands, my son. I see your eyes straying toward them when you walk with Undomiel at twilight. They are not for us, or our people."

Later, walking with Arwen in the twilight as his mother described, Gilraen's words lay heavy on Aragorn's heart. Their fingers were lightly entwined as they strolled beneath the trees. They talked for a while about inconsequential things: the chill in the night air that spoke of autumn, the scroll Elrond misplaced four hundred years ago and had found the previous morning, the colt Arwen's favorite horse had just foaled. Suddenly she stopped, realizing Aragorn had fallen silent. "Estel? Tell me what you are thinking."

He blinked. How could he explain that he was memorizing the curve of her jaw and the way her night-dark hair swept against her cheek? How could he say that, walking so close to her, he was breathing the air she exhaled and tasting her soul? "I'm thinking about how much I will miss you."

She regarded him in a way that made him feel his thoughts were transparent to her. Color rose in his face, hot and unwelcome. "I will miss you, too," she said finally. "Come back to us in the spring, if you are able."

"I will."

"Promise me."

"I promise." He wanted to be brave enough to take her in his arms, but in the back of his mind he could still hear his mother's words: _Be careful as you gaze on the Undying Lands. They are not for us, or our people_.

Arwen moved closer, her hands reaching around his waist. "The Wild is a very dangerous place," she breathed. "Take care of yourself, Estel, and listen to your brothers." Then she kissed the side of his mouth, a gesture somewhere between that of a sister and a lover. Before he could respond she was walking back toward the great house, leaving him alone and wondering.

###

__

Listen to your brothers, Aragorn thought grumpily. _Why did Arwen have to speak to me as if I was a child when we parted? Elladan and Elrohir are the ones who are hopelessly immature!_

"Stewed!"

"Roasted!"

They were ten days out from Rivendell and camping in the shadow of Weathertop. Aragorn was fascinated by the ruined watchtower and spent most of the afternoon sifting through the stone circle on the hill with Legolas while his brothers hunted for their dinner. The twins came back with three plump rabbits, which should have made the evening merry enough, but then the trouble began

"You cannot stew a rabbit without potatoes," Elladan said patiently, as if he were speaking to a five-year old. "Do you have any potatoes in your pack, Elrohir? Do you?"

"You sound like a halfling," his twin snarled, looking up from the rabbit he was skinning and brandishing his knife menacingly. "Besides, you cannot roast a rabbit properly without onions."

"Maybe Estel would like to go dig for some?"

"Maybe he wouldn't," Aragorn said.

"I think the rabbits will be fine however you cook them," Legolas said, "as long as you do it sometime tonight."

"Ah, our woodland cousins," Elladan said. "Like dwarves, they will eat anything."

"Just a moment now--" Legolas began haughtily. He never finished the sentence. A howl in the distance broke the stillness of the surrounding night. It was answered by another, closer at hand.

"Stay by the fire and look to the horses, Estel," said Elrohir smoothly, retrieving his bow from where it lay on the ground. "Legolas?"

The Prince of Mirkwood nodded wordlessly and before Aragorn could blink they both disappeared into the darkness. Elladan stoked the fire and picked up the rabbit Elrohir had been skinning.

"Aren't you worried about them?" Aragorn hunched down beside his brother. The unearthly howls raised the hair on the back of his neck, but he was pleased that his voice sounded calm.

"Elrohir and Legolas won't be caught by wolves." Elladan looked up and smiled reassuringly at the young man. "Still," the smile faded and something moved behind the elf's ageless eyes, "it's strange for wolves to be this far south so early in the year." He finished skinning the rabbits in silence and when he looked up again, whatever Aragorn had seen in his eyes was now hidden. "Well," Elladan said brightly, "our brave elves are bound to be hungry when they return. Let's greet them with some nice roasted rabbits, shall we?"

###

From Weathertop they turned north and continued on for another ten days. They didn't encounter any wolves, although they heard them from time to time. Aragorn knew his brothers were still wary, and they always set a watch at night.

As the days passed Aragorn noticed a change in his brothers, one that became more pronounced the deeper they traveled into the Wild. The banter between the twins died away; they spoke less frequently and in low voices. Even Legolas seemed subdued.

Watching them, Aragorn realized how little he truly knew his three companions. He counted them among his closest friends, but away from the familiar surroundings of Rivendell they seemed almost like strangers. _Is this what will become of me_, he thought. _In time, will I cease to recognize myself?_

On the tenth night they camped in a dell between low hills. It was Legolas's turn to find their dinner, so the twins and Aragorn built a fire while they waited for him to return.

"It's good that Legolas is hunting this evening," Elladan said.

"Yes, he makes his kill faster than either of you," Aragorn teased. "I'm starving."

"That's not what I meant." Elladan glanced at his twin, who was studying a patch of grass between his feet. "Elrohir and I have things we must say to you, difficult things that may be hard for you to hear. We have delayed speaking about them as long as possible, but we may encounter the Rangers any day now. We can delay no longer."

Aragorn looked at him questioningly but said nothing. After a moment, Elladan continued. "It has been eighteen years since you were brought to our house. That is but a short while to us, but to the Rangers it is a long time to keep hope alive in their hearts. While you were growing up in Rivendell, blissfully ignorant of your true name, you were in your people's thoughts every day."

"Isn't that something good?"

"Good and bad," Elrohir said. "The problem is they are not really waiting for you. They are waiting for Arathorn to return to them. And the truth is," he made his voice as gentle as possible, "you are not very like your father, Estel. They will look for him in you, but they will not see him."

"Then what will they see?" Aragorn whispered.

Elladan studied his little brother in silence. Aragorn's face was clean-shaven and smooth, still with a touch of boyish roundness, although his jaw was firm enough. His waist-length dark hair was pulled into a single braid, plaited with silver thread, that hung down his back. Elladan shook his head at the dark brown tunic and leggings, simple in design but made by the finest weavers in Imladris. "They will see an elf," he said simply, "and they will not know what to make of you."

None of them spoke for a long moment, then Elrohir said, "It is not such a thing to be wondered at, really, because they know you have been raised among us. But what one knows with the head and what one hopes for with the heart are two different things."

"I don't want to disappoint them. What should I do? What would my father have done?"

"You can't think like that," Elladan said sharply. "Listen, Estel! Arathorn was a good man and a great Chieftain. He was our friend and we loved him. But there was little joy in his life until he married your mother, and after that what happiness he had was mingled with fear for you and her. One cannot survive dark times without joy and hope, both of which you possess and he did not. Honor his memory, but do not wish to be like him. To do so is to undervalue many of your own good qualities."

"Arathorn was stern and bold," Elrohir said. "You are gentle and brave. Who is to say which traits are better? Only the necessity of the times will tell us."

"We do not say these things to make you worry." Elladan reached out and grasped Aragorn's shoulder. "The Dunedain will come to accept you in time. They are good men and fair judges of character. It is best for you to know, though, what expectations you will face when you meet them."

Aragorn nodded. The fire crackled brightly but he felt a chill settle in his heart.

"There is one other thing," Elladan continued, "and it is far more important." A note of hesitancy crept into his voice, as if he were choosing his words with the utmost care. "We've told you a little about the kind of person Arathorn was. What do you know about the day he died?"

"He was riding with you when you came upon a party of orcs. A goblin archer shot him and he was killed. That's all _Ada_ told me."

"That much is true, but it is not the whole story. Estel, listen carefully to me and do not forget what I am about to say!" Elladan leaned forward, his eyes glowing in the firelight. "Arathorn did not die by chance. It was a clear day when we rode out, but by midday a strange fog surrounded us, confusing our horses. Elrohir and I were separated from your father. We heard him calling to us, but his voice seemed to come from all directions at once. Our horses were fey and we couldn't control them. Then we heard the orcs." He drew in a shuddering breath. "We were desperate with fear for Arathorn, but we could make no headway in the mists until suddenly, as if on a signal, a wind blew them away. The orcs drew off and Elrohir pursued them. I went in search of your father." He broke off and stared wordlessly at the fire for a moment.

"Later, the thought came to me that the mists had cleared the moment Arathorn died. I don't know why I thought that, but the feeling wouldn't leave me. I started to think about your grandfather, killed by hill-trolls only a few years earlier. I spoke to the companions who had been with him on that day, and they told me of a strange fog that had separated them from their Chieftain."

"What are you saying?" Aragorn's voice was harsh and low.

"Only what I have come to believe in my heart: there is some Evil that seeks to destroy the Chieftains of the Dunedain, breaking the only strength that stands against it in the North. Perhaps it is our old enemy, the Dark Lord who has risen again in the East. I do not know. But I do know this: you are the Chieftain of the Dunedain now, Estel. Whatever power murdered your father and grandfather is still potent, though it has slept for eighteen years. Soon it will wake and lay its traps for you."


	4. Loyal Unto Death

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Thanks to everyone for the great feedback! I really appreciate all your comments and observations! Sorry to make you wait so long for another installment. I hope you like it! 

Chapter 4: Loyal Unto Death

Aragorn woke from uneasy sleep when a hand shook his shoulder. He made no sound as he opened his eyes, focusing on the face above him. Legolas. Behind the elf he could see his brothers already standing, leaning on their bows and peering into the darkness.

He jumped to his feet, reaching for the sword at his hip. "Wolves?"

Legolas shook his head. "Not wolves, but a hunting pack surely. We are already surrounded."

"I see no eyes and hear no howls."

"These wolves are silent and hide their eyes behind hoods."

Understanding dawned, and Aragorn shook off the last vestiges of sleep. "Rangers?"

Legolas nodded. "So we think. Make no rash movements until it is certain."

The four stood silently then, backs to the fire in an outward-facing circle. The men who surrounded them were indeed stealthy, but now that he was fully awake Aragorn could sense slight movements in the grass and make out gray forms almost invisible in the darkness.

"Strangers in this land, speak!" A voice, clear and hard, came out of the night. "If you are elves, as you seem to be, declare yourselves and leave us no doubt."

"Greetings, Cirbarad," Elrohir called out in Elvish.

"Is that Master Elrohir? Or Master Elladan," the man answered in the same language. His words were clear enough, though accented, and his voice held profound relief.

"Elrohir, although my brother is with me, as well as Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood."

"Who is the fourth in your party?"

"Come closer and you will see," Elrohir said.

The passage of the men was like a night breeze sweeping through the grass. Soon twelve figures stepped into the firelight, each heavily cloaked. One came forward, casting back his hood to reveal unruly dark hair, streaked with gray, above a hawkish face.

"Well met, Cirbarad," Elrohir said.

"Well met, indeed," the Ranger said. "We had no word of your coming." He clasped Elrohir's hand. "Master Elladan," he inclined his head. "Your Highness." He bowed more deeply to Legolas and turned to face Aragorn. "Master…?" He waited for a name, searching the young man's face, and as they gazed into each other's eyes slow recognition came. "I do not think you are an elf," he breathed.

"No," Elladan said, "he is not, although we love him as one of our own."

"Well met, Cirbarad," Aragorn said softly.

"Arathorn's son? Can it be? And yet I know of no other lad who would travel with the sons of Elrond Half-Elven and be clad in the raiment of the Firstborn." The Ranger dropped to his knees at the young man's feet, and an exclamation swept through the circle of men, who instantly knelt as well.

"You may rise," Aragorn said awkwardly, touched and confused in equal measure by the spontaneous show of devotion. "Rise, please." When this second request failed, he dropped to his own knees and gently touched Cirbarad's shoulder. The Ranger gasped, but Aragorn spoke before he could object. "Thank you for this welcome. And to you all," he addressed the group, "many thanks as well. I am glad to be among you."

At that, the Rangers rose and surged forward, each in turn grasping Aragorn's hand. The three elves stepped back, momentarily forgotten. Elladan watched as joyful humans surrounded his youngest brother. He smiled. Tonight, at least, all was well.

#

"You return to us in a difficult hour, Aragorn," Cirbarad said. He rode beside the small party of elves with a handful of his men. Three he had already sent ahead with the good tidings and two he had left behind to guard their passage. "Winter comes early in this land, and I think it will be a hard one."

"We heard wolves several nights ago," Legolas said.

"Yes, they are strangely bold and sniff around our camps, hoping to find us unwary." He grinned, teeth showing, looking very like a wolf himself. "So far they have been disappointed. Cowardly curs! They are not the strongest hunters in these hills. In fact," he added, "we were tracking a group when we came upon you last night." He turned a keen eye on Aragorn. "Have you ever hunted wolves?"

"No, I'm afraid so far I've only run from them."

To his relief Cirbarad laughed. "Well, you obviously got away, so that's something, eh?" The other Rangers chuckled. "In any case, we'll be safe enough when we reach Fornost. They do not dare approach us there."

"Fornost?"

"Our home, lad, or as much of one as we've got. It's not what you're used to," he added, "but what comfort we have is yours."

"I'm sure it will be more than we need, and far more than we've had on the road these last days." His words were sincere; he was looking forward to anything that could be labeled a proper bed.

"We'll reach there by nightfall if we keep this pace," Elladan said, "and if I know the hospitality of the Dunedain, we'll be greeted with a feast. Diranarth is generous and does all things well."

"Diranarth?" Aragorn looked from his brother to the Ranger.

"Your uncle. Have these elves taught you nothing," Cirbarad exclaimed. "Who do you think has led us since your father's death?" He leaned over and grasped Aragorn's arm, holding the young man's eyes. "We are not only your people, lad. We are your family. Did you not know this?"

#

Elladan's prediction proved correct: they were greeted with a feast when they arrived at the small, heavily fortified settlement. By the time they rode through the gate, Aragorn was weaving in his saddle. The hard day's ride and the strain of so many revelations had exhausted him. In the course of the afternoon he had learned that he was related to all the Rangers in the small party in one way or another. Cirbarad he thought was a second cousin, although perhaps he was really a third. Aragorn rubbed a hand over his eyes. It was impossible to keep track of so many interwoven Dunedain genealogies.

One thing he did remember: Diranarth was his uncle, his mother's older brother. From the way the twins and Cirbarad spoke of him, he was obviously a good man, yet no one had ever mentioned his name before.

"Why didn't you tell me I have an uncle?" Aragorn hissed to Elrohir at one point during the ride.

Elrohir shrugged. "If your mother didn't tell you it certainly wasn't my place to."

Now, riding toward the small group that stood expectantly outside the largest house, anticipation revived Aragorn's flagging strength. If he had worried that it would be difficult to tell which hard, gray man was his uncle, his fears proved unfounded. The moment Diranarth's gaze fell upon him, Aragorn recognized him. They were bound together through Gilraen, and blood always knows blood.

"Greetings, Aragorn!" Diranarth stepped forward and held the young man's stirrup so that he could swing down. The elves sprang lightly off their own mounts as the leader of the Rangers pulled his nephew into a tight embrace. A moment later he released him and held him at arm's length. "Arathorn's boy, after all these years! You have Gilraen's look about you!"

"So do you, Uncle," Aragorn said.

"We have much to talk about, but you are tired and hungry. Come and eat at my table! Our food is plain but good, and our beer is better than good."

"Beer?"

Diranarth shook his head, laughing. "You've been among elves and their wine too long, lad, and are sorely behind in your education." He winked at Elladan and Elrohir. "Now that you are here," he put his arm around Aragorn's shoulder and steered him inside the house, "trust that your uncle will enlighten you!"

To Aragorn's relief, the feast was a small one and he did not have to suffer through too many introductions. It was only a small reprieve, however, Diranarth assured him. In the morning he would have to be officially presented to the Dunedain, and that would involve a ceremony of many hours' duration.

He determined not to drink too much in order to be as fresh as possible for whatever awaited him in the morning, and he found it was easy to be moderate at his uncle's table. While the food and beer were both surprisingly good, the Rangers partook of them sparingly. Even at their ease they seemed alert and taut, like drawn bows.

Finally, Aragorn made his excuses and was shown to a room above the hall. Legolas came with him, eager for solitude if not for sleep. He felt no great need of rest, but his human friend was reeling on his feet. Legolas steered him toward the bed and Aragorn flopped down on the feather mattress with a contented sigh. After a moment he sat up and pulled his boots off, then fell back once again. The sounds of the feast drifted up to them through chinks in the wooden floor. Legolas crossed to a small window and opened it. The stars above were very cold and bright.

"Estel, come see the stars. They shine here as brightly as in Rivendell."

The only answer from the bed was a soft snore. Smiling, Legolas leaned against the window ledge and looked out on the human settlement which was sleeping, but still watchful.

#

It was perhaps another hour or two before the feast ended. From his place at the window, Legolas saw the twins emerge into the night, headed for the guard station on the dike. Sensing the Prince's eyes on him, Elladan turned and waved. Legolas smiled and returned the salute.

It was quiet in the house. Legolas heard a chair scraping softly over the floor in the hall below, and a slight creak as someone settled into it. Another person was pacing in front of the great fireplace. Legolas cocked his head, curious. There seemed to be others in the house for whom sleep was elusive as well.

"What do you think of the lad?" Legolas recognized Cirbarad's voice.

"He seems a thoughtful boy. Well-mannered. I like him quite well." Diranarth chuckled. "I call tell by the look on your face that you're troubled. Out with it!"

The pacing stopped. Legolas leaned forward, ashamed to be listening and yet unable to ignore the conversation he was overhearing.

"I don't know what I expected. He is everything you say and yet…"

"Yes?"

"He's soft, Diranarth."

"Of course he is," the other answered mildly, "and so would you be if you lived in the most wonderful home west of the Misty Mountains. I have heard marvelous tales of Master Elrond's house. I'm sure Aragorn has grown up with all the comforts one can know and if he wanted anything at all he had but to ask. You say he is soft and I agree, at least by our standards. But ask yourself this: does he seem spoiled or self-centered, as a child raised so carefully could easily be?"

"No," Cirbarad said.

"You must admit you like him, too."

"I do, but that's not the point. He isn't just one of the lads. It is not sufficient to like him."

"What are you trying to say?" A hard edge entered Diranarth's voice.

"Tomorrow we will pledge our lives to him, to be loyal unto death. All of us, every man, will place ourselves in his hands. Can you tell me honestly that you have unwavering faith in Arathorn's blood?"

"Aragorn is our Chieftain by right. I will pledge myself to serve him as I am bound by honor to do."

"That was not my question."

"It is my answer and it will have to satisfy you." The chair scraped the floor again as Diranarth rose. Legolas drew back slightly, leaning once more against the window ledge. His gaze, clear and thoughtful, sought the stars in the night sky. Aragorn's soft breathing seemed suddenly heavy in the silence as the young man slept on, oblivious.

#

"I, Cirbarad, pledge to serve you with honor. My blood is your blood. My life is your life. I will be loyal unto death, and even in my final hour will not forget my duty and the oath I have sworn today."

The Ranger's hands were callused and cool. Cirbarad knelt before the assembled Dunedain, his hands between Aragorn's as he swore fealty to the new Chieftain. When he finished and after Aragorn had said the words of acceptance, he kissed the ring of Barahir and rose. Another man swiftly took his place.

It was a ritual that had been going on all morning. All the men and boys of fighting age filed past, introducing themselves and swearing fealty. Now it was almost noon and only the only ones left were a few scouts who had only arrived after the ceremony had started and Diranarth.

A hush fell over the crowd as Diranarth stepped forward. The man who had led the Rangers well for eighteen years made his way to where Aragorn stood, quietly waiting. Uncle and nephew were of a height, and Diranarth met the young man's eyes briefly before dropping his gaze and sinking slowly to his knees.

"Uncle…"

"Shh." Diranarth slid his hands between Aragorn's. He looked up, his face open, allowing Aragorn to see deeply within him. "I, Diranarth, pledge to serve you with honor. My blood is your blood. My life is your life. I will be loyal unto death, and even in my final hour will not forget my duty and the oath I have sworn today."

"I, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, accept your service gladly, knowing the worth of your fealty and the weight of your honor." He gently squeezed his uncle's hands as he said the ritual words, touched by the acceptance he saw in the other's eyes.

Diranarth kissed the ring of Barahir and rose in a fluid movement that belied his age. "Behold! Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dunedain!" His voice, strong and clear, rang over the assembly.

The crowd took up the cry. To Aragorn it seemed like a strange dream, to suddenly be the leader of a group of people he scarcely knew, and yet who had unhesitatingly pledged to die for him. The upturned faces gazing at him held such hope and trust. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders, quashing any joy he might have felt. Then a voice shouted loudly over the cheering of the crowd.

"Wolves!"

A boy, breathing heavily, skidded to a stop in the center of the group. The Rangers fell silent immediately, and Cirbarad rushed to the child's side. "Where? What's happened? Are you hurt?"

The boy shook his head once, emphatically. "They fell upon us just before dawn. We were scattered. I don't know what happened to the others. I've been running...," he stopped and braced his hands against his thighs, trying to catch his breath. "I've been running for hours."

"Diranarth?" Cirbarad looked at his old friend questioningly.

Diranarth slowly turned to Aragorn and all eyes followed him. "It is not my decision," he said calmly. "It is up to you now, Aragorn. You are Chieftain of the Dunedain. You must tell us what to do."


	5. First Blood

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Sorry it's been so long since I last posted. Thanks for your many kind reviews!

Chapter 5: First Blood

Aragorn looked out at the sea of expectant faces. He gazed past them toward the bright horizon, casting his thoughts back in time. He remembered nightfall in Raven Pass and hunting the orcs, an enemy whose ways were unknown to him. He thought of the apprehension in Legolas's face beside him in the darkness and the anger on Glorfindel's when he found them. "I cannot lead you," he said softly, turning back to his uncle.

"What?" Diranarth grasped his arm tightly. "Do you know what you're saying?"

"I do."

"You are the Chieftain now. If you do this, you risk losing the respect of the men."

"What respect will they have for me if my first command ends in disaster? I have never hunted wolves before, nor do I know your fighting style." He shook his head, his clear eyes locked on the older man's. "If I lose respect because of this decision, then so be it. Their lives are more important than my vanity."

Aragorn imagined he saw a small smile flash in his uncle's eyes. "Very well, then." Diranarth faced the crowd and spoke in a loud voice. "Though you have sworn fealty to Aragorn today and he is our Chieftain, it is his wish that I lead until he knows our ways better. Cirbarad, prepare a party of two dozen. We leave within the hour." Cirbarad nodded and began selecting the hunters. The crowd of Dunedain dispersed, leaving the small square almost empty in a matter of moments.

"I'll gather our things," Legolas said to Aragorn. "It may be a long trip." He and the twins headed back to Diranarth's house.

"Halbarad, come here, lad!" Diranarth said. The boy who had warned them of the wolves was standing in the same place, hands still braced on his thighs. He looked like he could fall down at any moment, but he gamely obeyed when he heard his leader's voice. Tired dark eyes looked up at Aragorn, but there was curiosity in them as well. "This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, our Chieftain," Diranarth said. He turned to Aragorn. "This boy, a little the worse for wear at the moment, is Halbarad, Cirbarad's youngest."

Aragorn dropped to one knee. "I am glad to meet you, Halbarad," he said.

Halbarad stared at him in wonder.

"I know you are tired," Diranarth said, clapping the boy on the shoulder and jolting him back to the present, "but we need you to go with us and show us where your party was set upon. Can you do this?"

Halbarad nodded. "Aye, my lord," he said softly.

"Good lad! Go and rest now, while you may." They watched the boy stumble off in the direction of his father's house. Diranarth sighed and shook his head. "Aragorn, will you come with me? I would speak with you before we depart."

"Of course."

Together they made their unhurried way back to Diranarth's house. "There is little I can tell you of fighting wolves," the older Ranger said as they walked. "Real knowledge is gained by experience, but I will advise you now as best I may. First, it is useless to attack a pack of them, for they are quick and hard to encircle. Better to draw them to you. When that happens, we form a circle with an arm span between each man. Any closer and you risk wounding each other, any farther apart and wolves might break through the defense. Understand?"

"Yes."

Diranarth stopped and grasped his nephew's arm. "Do not," he said, "under any circumstances, leave your place in the circle." He said no more for a moment, but Aragorn knew what he was thinking. There were only two reasons a man would break the formation: either because he was goaded into pursuing a wolf, or because he was fleeing in fear. "If you leave the circle we will not be able to protect you, and the men on either side of you will be compromised."

"I will not break the circle." Serious gray eyes met Diranarth's gaze steadily.

Diranarth smiled at him and resumed walking. "No," he said, "I believe you will not. But a wolf attack is hard to endure, so prepare yourself for the worst. There is no limit to the creatures' savagery."

"What if a man is wounded?"

"If a man falls, we close the circle around him so the wolves can't drag him away. Although many are wounded, we have few deaths because we go to great lengths to protect the fallen. It is the custom of our people to fight for each other so valiantly." There was a hint of pride in the older man's voice as he said this.

They reached the door of Diranarth's house and ran into Elrohir coming out with his pack. "Hurry up, Young Lord Sluggard!" He winked at Aragorn as he passed, hoisting the heavy satchel over his shoulder as he headed for the stables.

"The sons of Lord Elrond are remarkable," Diranarth said, raising his eyebrow. "One moment they are as old as mountains, the next as giddy as young colts."

"He knows the danger we will face and he doesn't want me to be afraid." Aragorn looked after his brother fondly. "That's why he speaks so foolishly." He started to enter the house, then turned on the threshold. "I will do my best, Uncle." Without waiting for a response, he ducked through the door and was gone.

Diranarth stood for a moment more in the sunlight, then followed his nephew into the darkness of the house.

# # #

_I will do my best._ That was what he had told Diranarth, what he had promised to do. Now, standing between his uncle and Elladan in the battle-circle, surrounded by what seemed to be a churning sea of dark bodies, his stomach clenched with sick fear, Aragorn held on to those words with a resolution born of desperation.

They had not expected such a large number of wolves. The size of the pack had obviously increased since the Rangers had been attacked a few days before. Diranarth and his men were not caught completely unaware and unprepared, though. As soon as Elladan and Elrohir ran into their camp with the news that the pack was on its way, the Rangers stoked the fire and gathered their weapons. Diranarth ordered the circle to be formed, carefully choosing where each man would be placed. Aragorn didn't need to ask why he was between his uncle and his brother. He knew that he and Halbarad, who stood between Cirbarad and Elrohir, were the weakest links, the ones who needed the most protection. At another time the realization would have rankled, but Aragorn admitted to himself that Diranarth was, unfortunately, right in his assessment. The howling of the wolves sent a shiver of fear through him and he set his teeth, trying to school his features to be as calm and impassive as Elladan's.

Legolas was the only one that didn't take a place in the circle. Instead, he knelt on a tree branch above the men's heads, his bow drawn. From this position he could take in the situation much better than those on the ground and could call down advice and warnings to the beleaguered Rangers.

Howling and snapping their teeth, the wolves leaped upon the encircled men. Legolas's bow sang as he loosed arrow after arrow into the fray. Elladan swept the head off the first wolf that jumped toward his youngest brother, but after that the fight became fiercer and he could only look to his own defense.

A large, gray wolf sprang at Aragorn, surprising the young man with its strength. Hot, rancid breath brushed his cheek as he staggered back a pace, trying to absorb the creature's momentum. The weight of the beast was far greater than he had anticipated, and his arm shook with the effort of holding those yellow, snapping teeth from his throat. Suddenly, he felt the wolf shudder and the burning eyes, too close to his own for comfort, dimmed. The creature's carcass slid to his feet as Diranarth wrenched his blade free. Wordlessly, he steadied his nephew and Aragorn shot him a grateful look. There was time for nothing more. Aragorn squared his shoulders and widened his stance, readying himself for the next attack. When it came he was prepared for the bone-shaking impact and dispatched the wolf with a quick blow to the throat.

On they fought, until Aragorn was drenched in sweat in spite of the chill in the air. His sword arm felt almost too heavy to lift. Grimly, he wondered how many more times he could hold off such desperate attacks. Practicing with his brothers had never been like this. There was a dull ache behind his eyes and his vision blurred for a moment. It was in that instant, as he shook his head in a vain effort to clear it, that he heard Legolas's shout from above.

"There's a wolf in the circle!"

In the clamor of the fray, had he missed the child's scream? It seemed to Aragorn that time stopped as he looked over his shoulder and saw a massive wolf standing over Halbarad, who had been pushed to the ground. Elrohir and Cirbarad were both engaged in fierce battles of their own and could not help the boy who lay on his back, frozen with fear. Aragorn's breath caught in his throat as he realized he would never reach Halbarad in time.

Then the huge wolf raised its head and their eyes locked. Aragorn made no movement, but the wolf snarled and bared its fangs. Fire burned deep in its eyes. Aragorn's own widened in wonder as he realized the creature's intentions. Ignoring the easy prey at its feet, the wolf bounded across the circle toward him.

The beast moved like the wind, but there was one who was faster. Aragorn was pushed backwards as Legolas dropped from the tree into the path of the charging wolf. Wolf and elf went down in a tangle. Legolas plunged his knife deep into the beast's side, but the wolf fought on with mad ferocity. Flailing claws caught the elf's shoulder, ripping though his tunic into flesh. Still Legolas held the beast tightly as Aragorn drove his sword though its eyes, spattering them both with blood.

"Let go, Legolas!"

The elf still clung to the filthy, matted fur, his eyes shut and his breathing fast. Aragorn sheathed his sword with a curse and shook his friend.

"It's dead, Legolas. Let go now!"

"Calm down, lad." Aragorn looked up to find Diranarth by his side. Seeing the death of their leader, the remaining wolves had scattered. "He doesn't need you screaming at him. See? He's fine."

Aragorn sank to his knees, his legs shaking too much to stand, as Legolas opened his eyes. The elf smiled wanly and slowly sat up. "I'm sorry, Estel." Blood flowed freely down his arm and he pressed his hand to the wound. "I only needed a moment to collect myself. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Frighten me?" Aragorn pulled the prince into a fierce hug. "Whatever would make you think I was frightened?" he whispered.

# # #

While Elladan and Elrohir pursued the fleeing wolves, the rest of the group settled into camp for the night half a mile from the scene of the battle. There were many minor hurts, but no serious injuries. Aragorn was amazed the wounds were so slight, considering how hard the men had been pressed. He realized how much was owed to the wisdom of the Rangers' tactics and his uncle's cool head.

Legolas had sustained the worst injury, and Aragorn refused to rest until he looked at it. Although he had doubts about his ability to heal serious wounds, he had helped his father patch up the twins enough to feel confident he could stitch his friend's shoulder.

"I'm not sure I want someone with shaking hands to push a needle through my skin," Legolas teased.

Aragorn realized his hands were still trembling. "Sorry. I can't control such things as well as an elf." As soon as he said the words, he regretted them. His headache made him irritable and he felt almost too exhausted to move.

"Estel," Legolas frowned, leaning closer, "you did well today. There's no reason to be defensive. Only a few moments ago, didn't Cirbarad thank you for saving his son?"

"He did, but he shouldn't have." Aragorn wiped his forehead, feeling hot and foolish. "I didn't draw the wolf away from Halbarad. I didn't do anything. It was as if the wolf _knew_ me and wanted me, if that makes any sense. When it looked at me I couldn't look away. Anyway," he muttered, "by that time I was almost too tired to protect myself, much less engage in heroics."

"I know. Why do you think I left the tree?"

"You could tell I was nearly spent?"

Legolas nodded. "And I had no more arrows. It seemed the only way."

Aragorn squeezed his friend's hand. "I seem to always be getting you into trouble."

"And out of it. For someone on the verge of collapse you certainly dispatched that wolf when it had me."

Aragorn smiled weakly, but it didn't extend to his eyes.

"I think perhaps you are still nearly spent," Legolas said. "You should rest. One of the others can tend me…"

"No."

The elf's eyes narrowed as he studied the young man's flushed features. "You're ill, aren't you?"

Aragorn ducked his head, trying to busy himself threading the needle. He ground his teeth in frustration as his eyesight blurred, making the task impossible.

"Estel!"

"Yes," he whispered. "I think I am, Legolas. Don't mention it to the others, though. I want to ride back to Fornost with dignity, not carried in a litter."

"Do you think that really matters to the Rangers?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It matters to me."

Legolas sighed. "You are a very stubborn human. Here," he gestured to the needle. "Let me thread that. The sooner you finish tending me, the sooner I can see to you. You need something warm to eat and sleep. I don't know much about human illnesses, but perhaps you will be better in the morning."

# # #

When morning came Aragorn felt worse, but he hid it from the men as best he could. He was grateful his brothers were still following the wolves, since he felt sure they would notice something was wrong. The four-day ride back to Fornost seemed like the longest journey of Aragorn's life. Sometimes he dozed in the saddle, jerking awake as soon as he started to slump onto Legolas, who made a point of constantly riding by his side. At night he slept fitfully, disturbed by the heat burning inside him and the memory of a wolf with fiery, knowing eyes. 

Finally, the tired party reached their destination. As they drew close to Fornost, Aragorn counted each step his horse took, his eyes fixed on the gate that swung slowly open.

"Home at last, eh, lad?" Diranarth said heavily as they passed through. "All alive and well. Whatever else, that makes the hunt a success!"

"All alive and well," Aragorn echoed as he slid from his saddle. But his legs buckled under him and he fell to the ground before Legolas, who sprang from his horse, could catch him.


	6. Small Comforts

****

Thanks to all of you for the nice comments! I wish I had time to respond to each, but just a couple quickly:

Antigone Q: I'm glad you like the humor. One thing I've always loved about LotR is Tolkien's use of humor, which comes through even in the books' darkest moments. Even though this story is intended to be serious, I've tried to infuse it with many lighter moments. There's some humor in this chapter, too, as you'll see. (The Twins are great for providing it, I think!)

Fliewatuet and Frodo3791: I'm glad you like the portrayal of Aragorn's first battle and his difficulty in coming to grips with his new situation. I was curious about how readers would react to Cirbarad calling Aragorn "soft," although of course he is in the battle-hardened Ranger's eyes. To normal folk like most of us, he would probably appear quite athletic. I was hoping to make young Aragorn seem realistic, while still showing the promise of the hero he is to become. I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and I appreciate all your observations.

Thanks and on with the next chapter!

****

Chapter 6: Small Comforts

"Estel!" Legolas gathered his friend in his arms and looked worriedly at Diranarth.

"What's wrong? I didn't think he was wounded." The ranger knelt beside them and grasped his nephew's hand. Aragorn didn't stir.

Legolas shook his head. "He wasn't. He's ill. See? He burns with fever."

"Ill!" Cirbarad exclaimed. "Why did he say nothing?"

"Perhaps," Legolas bit out, "he didn't wish to be judged weak."

"There's no reason to be angry," Diranarth said quietly, examining his nephew's still, pale face. "There are none here who believe Aragorn is weak." He glanced at Cirbarad and the other Ranger looked at the ground. "He is very ill, though, and should have spoken of it. Cirbarad, send for Tirion at once." He turned to Legolas. "Our master healer will tell us what must be done."

Legolas lifted Aragorn easily and carried him to Diranarth's house, declining all offers of assistance. They laid him in the bedroom where he and Legolas had stayed on the night of the feast and were just pulling off his boots and travel-stained clothes when Cirbarad returned, followed by a gray-haired man with watery blue eyes. "I'm Tirion, the healer," he said shortly. "Where's the lad?"

"Here," Diranarth said from his place at the head of the bed.

Tirion squinted as he approached them. When he stood beside them, he noticed Legolas looking at him curiously. "I am not a young man and my eyes are poor at distances," he said, "but you may trust that my hands are sure."

"I do not doubt it, but still I fear for my friend. Can you tell the nature of this illness?"

The healer didn't answer, but instead felt Aragorn's forehead and the pulse at his throat. Tirion's face became grave. "How long has he been ill?"

"Four days, since our battle with the wolves, at least," Legolas said, "but it may have been longer. He was reluctant to speak of it."

Tirion nodded wordlessly and continued his examination. Finally he drew back and sighed. "I knew Aragorn was newly returned to us after a long absence. I should have foreseen this."

"What do you mean?" Diranarth asked.

"In my years as a healer I have heard many of our men talk of falling ill when travelling to distant towns. Also, do you remember the girl Giliad rescued from orcs eight years ago?"

"The Rohirrim lass?" Diranarth frowned. "I remember her well. She died of a fever before we could return her to her people."

"Exactly. Several of our own were sick that winter, too, but none were affected as she was."

"What are you saying?"

"Aragorn met all our people at the Presentation Ceremony. A few were sick at the time and I have attended them, but none are gravely ill." He studied the young man on the bed thoughtfully. "There is something that makes sickness worse when one is a stranger. I don't know why, but being raised away from Men is making Aragorn far more ill than would normally be expected. Isn't it true," he asked, turning suddenly to Legolas, "that the Eldar are never ill?"

"It is true," Legolas said quietly.

"Have you ever known this lad to be sick before?"

"Never."

"I have," Diranarth said suddenly, "He was sick three times as a baby, once seriously. He pulled through each time." He cleared his throat and looked at Tirion with an almost defiant expression. "He was a strong child, remember?"

"I do remember," Tirion said. "Let us hope he is still as hardy."

# # #

For Aragorn, the next day passed in a feverish haze. He slept fitfully, unable to find respite from his parched throat and throbbing head. Once he awoke feeling the wolf's claws on his neck, only to see the master healer standing over him, turning his head gently to the side as he spoke to someone beyond Aragorn's field of vision. "_Ada_?" he said weakly, thinking he recognized the voice that answered.

"No, it's only me, little one." Elrohir knelt beside the bed and laid a cool hand on Aragorn's forehead. "Elladan and I returned a short while ago. How do you feel?" 

"Don't be daft," he muttered, but seeing the concern in his brother's eyes he softened the words with a smile. "I feel surprised, betrayed by my body, humbled. Like a Man and not an Elf." He squeezed Elrohir's arm with a grip that was not entirely weak. "Don't worry, El. It will be well."

"I know. I believe in you."

"What of the wolves?"

"Ah, Young Lord Slug-a-Bed becomes Young Lord Concern," Elrohir teased. "You speak like a true Chieftain already. Very well, since you bid me to report, I will tell you the news. You will be happy to know that the men who were scattered by the first wolf attack have all been accounted for. Three returned here on their own and Elladan and I rounded up the other five. Two were wounded, but not seriously."

Aragorn squeezed his eyes shut, muttering thanks.

"The rest is not so good," Elrohir said in a lower voice. "We found no trace of the wolves, nor do we know when they will attack again." He sighed. "We will have to ride out soon and try again to discover what their purpose is."

"Wait a little and I'll ride with you."

Elrohir smiled. "I'm counting on it, but sleep now."

Perhaps it was the knowledge that the scattered Rangers had returned home. Perhaps it was that his brother was by his side.

Aragorn slept.

# # #

Candlelight threw twisted shadows on the walls of the room. Aragorn's breathing was loud in the semi-darkness. In the hours since his brothers' return his fever had spiked higher. Tirion opined that it must be broken soon, one way or another, and so he had ordered a tub filled with cool water brought up. Now he, Diranarth, Legolas, and the twins stood beside the sickbed, reluctant to do what they knew they must.

"Burning with fever as he is, this water will feel ice-cold to Aragorn," the healer said. "Being dunked in such a bath is a tremendous shock to the system and it will jolt him awake. He will struggle and try to get away, but you must hold him tightly and let the water do its work." He fixed them each with his rheumy gaze. "Do you understand?"

Although all nodded, only Diranarth spoke. "Let's get it over with."

Gently, Elladan lifted his youngest brother, who opened fever-glazed eyes and tried to focus on the face above him. "You're burning up, little one, and we must put you in water now to cool you. Do you understand?" Aragorn nodded, but Elladan wondered if his words had even been heard, much less comprehended. At his side, Legolas and Elrohir made ready to grip Aragorn's arms and legs.

Aragorn's body arched when it hit the water and he inhaled sharply, but there was no struggle. The young man lay stiffly under the restraining hands, his eyes shut. He seemed to be barely breathing.

"Something's wrong," Tirion said, worried by his patient's stillness. "Get him out of there!"

"No, let me be." The low, pained words were loud in the suddenly silent room. With great effort, Aragorn opened his eyes.

Tirion stumbled backwards in astonishment. "Forgive me, my lord," he stammered. "I didn't realize you had such mastery of yourself!"

"Forgiven." Aragorn managed a tight smile. It took all of his concentration to keep from screaming. He had never known such intense cold or such terrible pain in his extremities. His fevered body wanted to struggle, to escape the well-intentioned torment of his friends, even as his healer's judgement understood the wisdom of their actions.

Tirion placed a cold, wet cloth on his forehead and a whimper escaped his teeth. Desperate with pain, feeling his composure crumbling, Aragorn grasped for anything that would help him stay in control. He remembered playing with the Elven children in the wintertime and being determined he could last in the snowy woods as long as any of them. _I am an Elf_, he told himself then. _I do not feel the cold. I am an Elf. I do not feel the cold._

"You're doing well," Tirion said soothingly, seeing the young man's distress. "A few more moments only, if you can stand it."

"Do orcs torment their captives as cruelly as you?" Aragorn asked through chattering teeth.

"Worse, I'm afraid."

"_Ai_, Legolas! No wonder _Ada_ feared for me to be in their hands. I would be unmanned entirely." He tried to laugh, but the breath caught in his throat, turning into a sob. He lapsed into silence, but he felt Legolas's strong hand slip into his own. Aragorn squeezed it tightly, hanging on to this one small comfort. It was all he had, but it was enough to steady him until Tirion called for him to be lifted out.

Shivering uncontrollably, he protested that he could stand, but he was far too unsteady to manage. Still in pain and feeling more vulnerable than he could ever remember, Aragorn didn't protest as Elrohir dried him gently and Elladan carried him back to the bed. "Sleep now," they said, "if you can. We will be near."

"Uncle?"

Diranarth was instantly by his side.

Aragorn felt heat that didn't come from the fever rise in his cheeks. "I'm sorry to have been such a bother since I arrived. I meant to make a better impression."

To his surprise, his uncle laughed. "A better impression? You fight with the grace of an Elf and have the stout heart of a dwarf under duress. You needn't worry about what I think of you!" He sobered, eyeing his nephew seriously. "You're young, but you've some steel in you. I've seen it, and the others will, too, in time. Now rest, and stop worrying about foolish things!"

"Good advice," Legolas said. He watched with approval as Tirion felt Aragorn's forehead.

"Fever's gone for now," the healer said. "Let's hope it stays that way." He lifted Aragorn's head and held a cup of water to his lips. "Drink," he ordered.

Aragorn tasted it and grimaced. "Ugh. It isn't very cold." There was a twinkle in his tired eyes.

"Oh, be quiet, Estel!" Legolas said.

# # #

Aragorn woke slowly, feeling cold autumn sunlight pricking his eyelids. For a long while he lay without moving, drifting comfortably in and out of sleep. The bed that had previously seemed so cramped and hot was now warm and soft. The faint scent of athelas wafted across the room, clearing his sleepy mind. A smile spread slowly across Aragorn's peaceful face as his healer's instincts confirmed the diagnosis he hoped for.

It was over.

He chuckled with the sheer joy of the realization and opened his eyes. Afternoon sunlight shone through the window, falling across his bed. He looked around the room as if for the first time and was a bit surprised to find he was alone. He had no doubt that the twins had returned and that Legolas was also near, though. The events of the previous night were too real to have been only a bad dream.

Wrapping a blanket around his waist, Aragorn stumbled to the nightstand on shaky legs. He poured water into the wash basin and splashed it on his face, only to stop in surprise, his dripping fingers touching his cheek.

A pale young man with short, tousled hair and a week's growth of beard stared back at him from the clear surface of the water.

"Master Tirion cut it while you were ill." Legolas entered soundlessly and stood in the doorway, holding a tray. "Putting you in cold water was the last resort, after he had tried everything else to cool your body." He looked at Aragorn with real sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Aragorn shook his head. "He did the right thing. Anyway, at home my hair was normal, just like everyone else's. But "normal" isn't the same here, and I'm afraid an Elven braid only seems like a foolish affectation in the world of Men."

"Are you saying we look foolish?" Elladan slid past Legolas and confronted his brother. "Who told you to get out of bed?" he asked as he folded Aragorn in a surprisingly gentle embrace, feeling the young man trembling with the exertion of standing. "Get back in at once and eat the food Legolas has brought for you."

Feeling hungry for the first time in days, Aragorn slid under the blanket without argument and set to work on the bread and soup.

"You're the talk of Fornost, you know," Elrohir said, looking at his him slyly.

Aragorn stopped chewing in mid-motion. "Oh, no. Please tell me everyone doesn't know about all this."

"Oh, don't worry. Your uncle is singing your praises, but keeping the details to himself. All he will say is that you're 'as stouthearted as any Dwarf I've ever seen!'" Elrohir laughed at his own imitation of Diranarth.

Relieved, Aragorn resumed eating.

"As long as we're showering Estel with the virtues of the Free Peoples, perhaps we should mention that he seems to have the appetite of a starving halfling," Elladan observed.

Aragorn threw a chunk of bread at him and missed.

"Your aim's off."

"Wait a little and it will become deadly again."

"Elrohir, the child is frightening me!"

"When was Estel's aim ever deadly?" Elrohir mused.

"You two shouldn't tease him when he's still recovering," Legolas said. He shifted the tray and sat down on the bed. "Seriously, Estel, how do you feel?"

Aragorn could tell from the look in his friend's eyes that a joking rejoinder wouldn't be welcome. "Weak," he admitted. "Weaker than I ever imagined I could be. How quickly do illnesses like this really pass, do you think?"

"I don't know," Elladan said, sobering, "but the sooner the better."

Aragorn sensed something besides brotherly concern in Elladan's voice. "Why? What's going on?"

"We didn't leave your bedside this afternoon because we wanted to," Elrohir said. "Diranarth summoned us because another group of scouts has returned. They've picked up traces of a large pack of wolves near Amon Sûl. Diranarth fears for the safety of the towns along the Great East Road. "

"We're going to ride against them," Elladan said. "Diranarth waits only to receive further reports of their movements."

"I can't watch the three of you go into danger and be left behind!"

__

The three of us were going into danger before you were ever born, Elladan thought, but seeing the expression on Aragorn's face he wisely held his tongue. "That remains for Master Tirion to say," he said gently. "Rest now and gather your strength. No one knows what tidings tomorrow may bring."


End file.
